A Clockwork Rodent
by The Mouse Avenger
Summary: Alex DeMaus, the leader of a street gang, stars in this dramatic tale of corruption, betrayal, derodentization, revenge, & redemption in a dark, dystopian world of violence & terror. To be revised & reuploaded in the near future. Read & review, please!


AUTHOR'S NOTES: OK, this story started back in 2004, when I became curious about one of the most controversial movies of all time, A Clockwork Orange. This story is a crossover between the two British universes: one of GMD, one of Alex DeLarge's world. I do hope you enjoy.

Actually, this story is meant to be really, really strong PG-rated. I only changed it to T on this site to make sure this story doesn't get pulled off. This story is mostly clean, with a few small references to sex--hopefully, references that children won't question about.

And the "strange" language that the Droogs speak is called Nadsat. It's a wonderful dialect that one can easily understand when figuring it out through context. Just use the clues, & you'll figure it out. (wink) Or if you're still stumped, you can look up Nadsat dictionaries on the Internet. They'll help, too.

All "Clockwork Orange" elements & properties belong to Anthony Burgess & Stanley Kubrick. Basil Of Baker Street belongs to Disney. Abraham Simpson, Alex DeMaus, & everyone else are copyrighted by me & musn't be used without my explicit permission. Thanks in advance.

Again, enjoy the story!

* * *

**A CLOCKWORK RODENT**

By The Mouse Avenger

Chapter 1:

The Modern Youth

There was me, that is Alex, & my three droogs, that is Pete, Georgie, & Dim...& we sat in the Korova Dairy-Pub, trying to make up our rassoodocks what to do with the evening. It was a cold, dark winter's night in 1923, & snow was swirling & whirling all around. But inside the Korova, my droogs & I were snug & cozy-wozy as we peeted tall glasses of drinks. The Korova Dairy-Pub sold milkplus—milk plus vellocet, or synthmesc, or drencrom, which is what we were drinking as we govoreeted our plans for the night...

"What you wanna do?" asked a jaded Dim. To which Georgie replied, "I dunno. What you wanna do?"

"Hey," I snapped to my droogs, "now, don't start _that _cal again!" Oh, I don't believe I've introduced them to you properly. Why don't we start with Georgie first?

Now, Georgie was my best droog, & had been since the early childhood, O my brothers. It all started out with sleepovers & riding bikes upon the edge of the River Thames, then eventually, as we grew older, it led to crasting & mugging together—as partners in crime. Georgie was loyal to me, as a best friend was supposed to be, & whenever I was in a tight jammiwam, I could always count on my dear old droog to help me out of it.

Of course, Georgie wasn't just my best friend in those days—he was also my second-in-command, helping to carry out the orders I issued for my other droogs, that is to say, Dim & Pete. Georgie was a clever, conniving fellow, & very smart, too. Of course, not as smart as me, but during the days we went to skolliwoll, he always got real horrorshow marks in his courses. (That is, before we became truants & stopped attending classes.) Georgie was also no-nonsense, always making sure that the others stayed in their places & did as they were told. Deep down, however, he cared for all of us; well, all except for Dim, whom he never really liked at all.

And he had a good reason to dislike Dim. That bolshy oaf was a great bastard with cal for brains, laughing idiotically at everything he saw. And when he wasn't guffing his stupid chortle or dancing about like a malenky little fairy, he could often be viddied sleeping, playing with toys, or dunging behind some bush like a dog. But Dim was not just a lazy, gloopy chelloveck—he was a great fighter as well, & very capable with a fighting nozh (that is, a chain we used for dratsing in battles with certain others). Dim was a bit of a whiner as well, & he did not like doing much (unless it involved the old ultraviolence or something or the sort). Of course, he worked considerably more than Pete.

Pete was the last of the group, & the most different, too. He did not like to govoreet much, & when he did, he often chumbled a few words in his quiet little goloss & went back to thinking, which is what he did most of the time. And instead of taking part in gang fights or the old in-out, he would often stay to comfort our victims & help take care of their wounds, like the Good Samaritan he was. Because of his kind personality, I did not really like Pete, & neither did Georgie or Dim, but I never expelled him from our gang because...well, there was just something about him I had to admire. I did not know what it was in those days, but I would learn more about it in due time.

As of the here & now, my brothers, my droogs & I were in the Korova Dairy-Pub, peeting our milkplus while we made plans for what we would do that cold December evening.

"How about we go grab some ptitsas & do some of the old in-out, in-out with them?" Dim suggested with a lewd grin on his litso, but I swacked him across the cheek & snapped, "Dim, you gloopy bastard, we can't do the old in-out, in-out! This is a PG-rated story!" Needless to say, Pete was confused by my last few slovos. "What are you talking about?" he asked, bewildered. Shaking my head & putting down my glass of milkplus, I said, "Never mind. I have a much better idea..."

* * *

So we went out into the freezing nochy, & despite the bitterly cold winds & snow, we managed to keep warm in our outfits. We were dressed in the height of Nadsat, or teen, fashion—that is to say, white jumpsuits, codpieces, black bowler hats, short haircuts, suspenders, & real horrorshow combat boots for kicking & such. But we often wore something to assert our individuality—I wore a set of false eyelashes on my right glazzy, Georgie wore a top hat, Pete wore a beret, & Dim had bright red lipstick painted upon his goobers (not to mention he was quite stout, while the rest of us were thin).

Soon, we came upon a drugstore in the West End, not too far from the Korova Dairy-Pub. Making our way inside, we saw all sorts of cancers to smoke upon, as well as a plethora of various kinds of candies. (You can imagine how delighted Dim was at all the sweets...) Just before we could take the cigarettes & candy, however, we heard a quivering goloss call out sharply, "Stop, you hooligans! What do you think you're doing?" My droogs & I turned around to see a starry old mouse with whiskers, graying hair, & big round glasses standing in the doorway, looking bezoomny (in this case, angry) as he snapped in his high-pitched voice, "Put down the merchandise post-haste! I'll alert the cops if you don't!"

In reply to his commands, I kicked the old geezer in the jaw with my boot, sending him flying smack into the wall. Soon, his red, red kroovy began to flow most beautifully from his mouth, & an ecstasy I had felt so many times before bubbled within me. I whistled piercingly, then Georgie grabbed the old mouse & held him, as Dim lashed at him with his chain after I had cut up his platties with my britva (a knife with a blade that could shine real artistic when it popped out). With each crack of Dim's scourge-like nozh, kroovy began to pour from the old mouse's wounds. We ignored his moans of agony & his pleas for us to stop as we continued to give him the old ultraviolence.

Finally, I felt that we had done enough to him. Releasing the shopkeeper & letting his nearly-nagoy body slump to the planked floor, I gave him one last kick in his brooko (or belly), then my droogs & I went off, with our candy & cancers in our carmans (that is, pockets). Suddenly, my ears perked up to the approaching sound of police sirens. The starry old shopkeeper must have called the police!

Looking frantically about, I searched for a way we could escape. "Here's a Durango-23!" Georgie said, taking out an old, battered-up cheese-shaped car. My droogs & I hopped in, laughing maniacally as I took the wheel, put my noga on the gas, & drove us wildly down the streets. The Durango-23 purred away real horrorshow, a nice warm vibraty feeling all through your guttiwuts. We fillied around with other travelers of the night, playing hogs of the road. Then we headed west. What we were after now was the old surprise visit; that was a real kick, & good for laughs & lashings of the old ultraviolence.

Eventually, my droogs & I came to the West End of London, stopping our car at a particular house. After creeping up to the front door, I gave out a gesture, & we put on our maskies, which would serve as real horrorshow disguises during our break-in (I had a Pinocchio mask, Dim had a Mahatmouse Gandhi mask, Georgie had a Vincent Price I mask, & Pete had a Michael Jacksonville mask). Once I rang the zvonock, I could have sworn I heard tap-tap-tapping inside...

* * *

Things were quite & peaceful in the home of the Bakers. The couple was safe from the outside dangers, & all was as it should be.

In his cozy little corner, a 56-year-old tan mouse, wearing a pink robe & matching slippers, as well as small horn-rimmed glasses, was typing away at his small laptop. Mr. Baker—nicknamed Basil by his associates, because he was in many ways like the famous mouse detective—was busy working on an important document. In another intimate section of the living room, a 33-year-old red-haired black mouse, wearing a red jumpsuit & white sneakers, was curled up in a white wicker rocking chair, reading a book. That was Mr. Baker's wife, whom we'll call Adrienne.

Suddenly, both stopped what they were doing as the doorbell rang over & over (to the tune of Beethoven's 9th Symphony)...

* * *

After a few minootas of waiting, I smiled wickedly to myself as I heard footsteps sounding out. The door opened, but all I could see was a woman's glazzy as I slooshied her voice ask, "Yes, who is it?"

"Excuse me, missus," I begged, "can you please help me? There's been a terrible accident! My friend's lying in the middle of the road, bleeding to death. Can I use your telephone for an ambulance?" The woman paused, then replied anxiously, "I'm frightfully sorry, but we don't have a telephone. You'll have to go somewhere else."

"But missus," I pleaded, "it's a matter of life & death!" From inside the house, I could hear the woman & a chelloveck govoreeting. Then the lady opened the door, just as soon as my droogs & I jumped in & grabbed her. Despite the woman's attempts to fight & squirm away, we managed to keep a hold on her until we got into the living room. I could viddy a starry old mouse in a pink robe & otchkies (that is, specs) looking up from his typewriter & gasping as he rushed over to free the woman. Georgie, quick as he was, leaped onto the old mouse & pinned him down.

Dim started rummaging through the fridge, looking for food to fill his fat belly, & Pete was jumping about on the couch & goofing off. But once I gave the whistle, they stopped what they were doing, & went over to grab the cheena, who was still kicking & creeching away, even though I had gagged her with a sock & some tape. Then, as the starry mouse watched on with widening glazzies, I took out my britva & began to cut up the woman's clothes, until she was in her neezhnies. But I did not want to do the old in-out, oh, no...I was in an ultraviolent mood tonight!

With every kick, every punch I gave her, the ptitsa let out a symphony of muffled screams & moans of pain. Music to my ookos! Eager to express all the ecstasy that flowed through me as I beat her up quite nicely, I began to burst into song...

_**I'm singin' in the rain  
**__**Just singin' in the rain  
**__**What a glorious feeling  
**__**I'm happy again!**_

_**I'm laughing at clouds  
**__**So dark up above  
**__**The sun's in my heart  
**__**And I'm ready for love**_

_**Let the stormy clouds chase  
**__**Everyone from the place  
**__**Come on with the rain  
**__**I've a smile on my face**_

_**And I'll walk down the lane  
**__**With a happy refrain  
**__**And I'm singin'  
**__**Just singin' in the rain!**_

Eventually, the red, red kroovy began to flow once more, as it had with the old shopkeeper. It was beautiful...The blissful feeling inside of me grew in intensity, as I took the woman & kissed her madly, ignoring her screams of protest, lapping up the blood from her wounds & licking my tongue all over her soft black fur, caressing my rookers all over her body...

* * *

We were all feeling a bit shagged & fagged & fashed, it having been an evening of some small energy expenditure, O my brothers. So we got rid of the Durango-23 & stopped off at the Korova for a nightcap. As I sat down at our booth & propped my feet upon their usual resting place, my ookos perked up to the sound of merry giggles & chatting.

There were some sophistos from the TV studio around the corner, laughing & govoreeting. The devotchka was smecking away, not caring one bit about this wicked world. And just before her friends began talking again, she suddenly came forth with a burst of singing. And O my brothers, for a moment it seemed like some great bird had flown into the Dairy-Pub...I could feel my kroovy running cold in my veins & all the malenky hairs in my fur standing endwise, with shivers running up my spine like slow malenky lizards & then down again. Because I knew what she sang—it was a bit from the glorious Ninth, by Ludwig Van.

Suddenly, my blissful state was shattered, as my ears perked up once more, this time to the sound of Dim blowing a loud raspberry at the woman who had performed her song. With a red face & my zoobies gritting in my mouth, I took my cane & slapped Dim across the knees..._hard_. The oafish goon let out a cry, & whimpered, "What did you do that for?" Not even turning to glare at him, I replied coldly, "For being a bastard with no manners, & not a dook of an idea how to comport yourself public-wise, O my brother." (But it was not the woman I was defending—it was I who Dim had insulted, for showing such horrid contempt for my beloved artist.)

Sniffling & sobbing, Dim took out a snotty handkerchief & dried his eyes with it, as he grouched, "I don't like you should do what you done! I'm not your brother no more, & wouldn't want to be!"

"Do watch that," I snarled, preparing to take out my britva. "Do watch that, O Dim, if to continue to be on live thou dost wish."

"Yarbles!" Dim snapped at me, still crying. "Great, bolshy yarblockos to you! I'll meet you with chain or nozh or britva anytime! Not havin' you aimin' tolchocks at me reasonless...it stands to reason, I won't have it!"

"A nozh scrap anytime you say!" I creeched, taking out my knife & preparing to stab Dim. But Georgie jumped in between us, waving his arms frantically as he shouted at us not to fight. No sooner had I put down my britva & calmed down, than these real starry ptitsas—or women—came up to us, asking, "Do you mind if we could have a few snacks from you lovely young boys?" (I could tell they had seen the money we had taken from the drugstore in our pockets.)

I was just about to say "no", but suddenly, kind old Pete, the Good Samaritan like he was, tipped his beret & said with a sincere smile, "Sure, dearies!" And with that, he put a pound in the vending machine next to our booth, & he pressed a few buttons here & there...& lo & behold, out came a few bags of chips, two sodas, & a couple of candy bars, which Pete immediately proceeded to hand to the baboochkas, who went all gushy-wushy & fawned, "Thank you, sir!", & then they walked off.

Wiping the little white milkplus moustache off my face, I turned to my droogs & said, "Well, it's a long night for growing malchicks like us. Best we go homeways & get a bit of spatchka, eh?"

"Right, right, right," echoed my friends, & we took the next Mousetro train for our homes nearby.

* * *

Where I lived, was with my daddy & mum (known from here on out as my Pee & Em), in Municipal Flatblock 18A, located in the East End. It was a large, ramshackle flat, but somehow, it managed to stay quite nice. On the living room walls, there was painted a real horrorshow mural depicting Basil Of Baker Street & other famous mice who had brought "glorious changes" to Mouse London & all that cal. Of course, over the years, my droogs had penciled it over with dirty slovos & doodles. Multicolored malenky mod furniture bedecked the living room, & the kitchen was nice & full of lovely little knick-knacks. Whistling merrily, I made my way over to the elevator, but the doors were buckled in. I had no choice but to walk all the way upstairs.

Once I had taken a nice hot bath & put on my pajamas, I went over to my large stereo. It had been a wonderful evening indeed, & what better way to end it than give it a bit of the old music? After putting in a CD of Beethoven, I crawled under the covers, lay back, & closed my eyes as I took in the lovely sounds. Oh, bliss, bliss, & heaven...it was like a bird of rarest heaven-spun metal, like silvery wine flowing in a spaceship, gravity all nonsense now. As I slooshied, I knew such lovely pictures...

* * *

I woke up at oh-eight-oh-oh hours the next morning, & as I aroused from my slumber, I could feel the sun's golden rays shining in my litso. Yawning deeply & smacking my lips, I settled back into bed, just to sleep a little while longer...

"Alex?" I could hear my Em knocking on the door as she called my name. "It's past 8, son, ye don't want to be late."

"I'm not feeling too good this morning, Em," I said groggily. "I've got a pain in the gulliver. Just let me sleep it off, otherwise I'm liable to miss a lot more school. Leave us be, & I'll be right as dodgers for this after."

"Eh...I'll put yer breakfast in the oven. I've got to be off meself," Em said as she walked away. When she had locked the front door & driven her car out of the garage, I rested my head on the soft podooshka, closed my eyes, & drifted off to sleep. As I zasnooted, however, I had a most strange dream...

_

* * *

In my dream, I was in an old army camp, surrounded by soldiers. My best droog Georgie came out, bedecked in spangles, medals, & an olive-green general's suit, complete with stars on the helmet. The soldiers & I immediately stood at attention once he arrived, saying yes sir & no sir & suchnot at every order Georgie the General gave out. Then Georgie whistled piercingly, & Dim arrived, laughing stupidly as he clutched a great whip in his rookers._

_I immediately became frightened, as Dim began to circle me, a leer on his litso as he said, "Oh, General Georgie, look at this! He has filth & cal all over his clothes!" As the two mice headed for me, I got on my knees & put my rookers together in prayer as I begged fearfully, "Please don't hurt me, O my brothers!" But they did not listen to me; instead, Georgie watched on maliciously as Dim chased me around the camp, crack-crack-cracking his whip at me. With every lash of the scourge, a sharp pain filled me. Not as sharp a pain, of course, as the ringing in my ookos that increased in volume & made my gulliver ache every time Dim whipped me..._

* * *

I immediately woke up, sweat pouring down my body & my tick-tocker pounding pum-pum-pum in my chest. Clutching a paw to my heart, I breathed heavily as I struggled to snap out of the horrifying dream I had had. The ringing in my ears continued to sound out, however, but I had nothing to fear, for it was only the front zvonock that was making all the noise. Suddenly, my ookos perked up to the sound of an elderly goloss sounding out, "You might as well get out of bed, Alex. I know you're in there." I moaned to myself in dismay; my Post-Corrective Advisor, Mr. P.R. Altoid, had come for a visit.

Trying to put on a smile, I got out of bed, took a short shower, & put on some comfy slippers & a long silk robe. Then I opened the door, & lo & behold, my old parole officer was there, dressed in a porkpie hat & long maroon overcoat over his platties. A cane was clutched in his withered rookers as he hobbled over to my bed, & sat down beside me.

"Ah, Alex," said Mr. P.R. Altoid with a creepy grin on his face, "awake at last, yes? I saw your mother on the way to work; she gave me the key, yes?" Rubbing my shoulders & back sensually, he said, "Your mother told me you were complaining of a pain somewhere, hence not at school, yes?"

"A rather intolerable pain in the head, sir," I replied uneasily (mainly because of the way he was touching me), "but it should clear up by this afternoon."

"Or by the evening, certainly, yes? The evening's a great time, isn't it, Alex, darling?" Altoid asked, leering lecherously into my face. Upon hearing his words, I gasped. _How did he know? How could he have figured out about my secret night life?_

"What are you getting at here? I haven't been in trouble with the millicents for a long time, now!" I countered defensively, glaring at Altoid, who just patted my bum as he said, "Oh, Alex, Alex, Alex...why are you so upset? Have you been doing something you shouldn't?"

"Just a manner of speech, sir," I replied, smiling nervously.

"Yes, well, it's just a manner of speech from your Post-Corrective Advisor that you watch out, little Alex. Because next time, it's not going to be the corrective school anymore—it's going to be the barry place, & all my work ruined! If you've no respect for your horrible self, you at least might have some for me, who's sweated over you! A big black mark, I tell you, for everyone we don't reclaim! A confession of failure for every one of you that ends up in the stripy hole!" he snarled at me, slapping my sharries.

"The millicents have got nothing on me, brother—sir, I mean. I've been out of the rookers of the police for a long time now!"

"Now, Alex, just because you've not been in the hands of the millicents doesn't mean you haven't been up to some nastiness. There was a bit of nastiness last night, yes. Some very extreme nastiness, yes," Altoid reprimanded. "A shopkeeper from the drugstore was ambulanced off late last night, yes. Your name was mentioned, as well as the name of certain friends of yours. Oh, nobody can prove anything about anybody as usual, but I'm warning you, Alex, being a good friend to you as always, the one mouse in this sore & sick community who wants to save you from yourself!"

Immediately, Altoid made an attempt to grab my tail. He never caught it, however, for I had rolled out of the way just in time, & Altoid fell to the floor. Getting up & reaching for a glass of water, he asked angrily, "What the deuce gets into you all? We study the problem—we've been studying it for damn well near a century, but we never get any further with our studies. You've got good loving parents, you've got not too bad of a brain! Is it some devil that crawls inside of you?"

"No, sir," I said, sporting an oily grin of my own. "I've been a good boy for quite some time now, brother—I mean, sir."

"_Too_ long, to be reasonable," Altoid sneered. "You're about due now by my reckoning. That's why I'm warning you, little Alex, to keep your handsome young proboscis out of the dirt. Have I made myself clear?"

"As an unmuddied lake, sir. As clear as an azure sky of deepest summer! You can rely on me, sir."

"Of course," Altoid said, rolling his eyes in a sarky manner. I had to let out a chuckle—because he didn't realize his glass of water had my Pee's false teeth floating in them!

* * *

Noon had passed, & now it was time to get ready for the evening. I thought I would make my rounds at the Musique Boutique, & as I made my way into the store, all dressed in the height of British fashion, I began to search for victims to beat.

The Musique Boutique was a lovely place indeed. All around the place were mirrors & multicolored plastic decorative vesches, which shined brightly in the glow of the strong neon lights that lit up the shop. Beautiful classical music—by none other than Ludwig Van himself—streamed through the loudspeakers as I walked around the store.

After a bit of rooting through shelves with a small spyglass I had brought along with me, I spotted two little devotchkas. They were both around 9 years old, dressed in "fake-up" & rainbow wigs & their mothers' dresses. How pathetic it was, I thought, that they were trying to give the impression they were all grown-up & ready for the world. It was enough to make me sick...but I kept my cool as I strolled over to them, noticing the droopy rainbow popsicles they ate as I asked sweetly, "Hello, there, little girls!"

"Hello, Mithter," the first girl said, lisping. "What'th your name?"

"Call me Alex," I said, bowing. "And you two might be?"

"I'm Angela," the lisping girl said, "& thith ith my friend Argentina."

"How lovely to meet you both!" I said, the charming smile never leaving my face. "Say, I've got an idea...how would you girls like some candy?"

"Oh, goody!" said Argentina, jumping up & down like a kangaroo. "We'd love to, Mr. Alex!"

"Follow me, then!"

* * *

"Funny," Argentina said when we had left the store & gone to a nearby alley. "This doesn't look like a candy store."

Immediately, I turned on the girls, ripping off my long purple coat & lacy cravat to reveal my regular outfit. The two devotchkas were horrified indeed, but they were too poogly (scared, that is) to get away. They were completely powerless, like putty in my rookers, as I proceeded to give them quite a tolchocking with my cane. It was the only weapon I had carried with me today, but it served as a real horrorshow one, as it battered the two little girls to a pulp. Once I was satisfied that they had been beaten well enough, I took my shredded-off outing clothes, hopped into the next hansom for home, & took off. As the cab made its way down the street, I could hear Angela faintly calling out to me, "Hey, mithter, what about our candy?"

_Children these days are soooo stupid, _I thought to myself smugly, smecking a little. But fear not, for those two girls had been taught a real horrorshow lesson indeed—a lesson I don't really need to describe, O my brothers.

* * *

The sun was beginning to set by the time I had reached my house. As soon as I got into the living room, I could see that my droogs were already prepared for the nochy's activities, all dressed up in their outfits. Though Pete wasn't too interested in the scene as he sat on the couch & read a book, Georgie watched in amusement as Dim took some paint & doodled some dirty slovos on the "mural of greatness", letting out his usual guff, a hearty huh-huh-huh, as he did.

"Hi, hi, hi, there!" I greeted cheerfully, tipping my hat & strolling inside.

"He are here!" Dim said happily, looking up from his "mouseterpiece" & smiling broadly as he did a bit of a gloopy dance. "He have arrived! Hooray!"

Sitting down beside my droogs, I asked, "So...what are you doing here this early, eh? I expected you to come at the usual hour, yes?" I seemed to have picked up that "yes?" from none other than my Post-Corrective Advisor, Mr. P.R. Altoid.

"Well, there we were," Pete replied with a concerned like frown on his little innocent litso, "drinking away at the old knify milkplus, & you had not turned up. We thought you might have been like offended by something or other, so around we come to your abode."

"Appy polly loggies," I apologized. "I had something of a pain in the gulliver, so I had to sleep it off. I was not awakened when I gave orders for awakening."

"Oh, so sorry about the pain," Dim said with a really crafty like smile on his face. "Using the gulliver too much like, eh? Giving orders & disciplining & all that cal, eh? You _sure_ the pain's gone? You sure you'll not be happier back up in bed? Hmmm?"

Now, what was with all this govoreeting & talking like that? I _knew_ my droogs were up to something, but just what it was, I wasn't too sure. But I knew it wasn't anything I wanted to learn of, judging by the way everyone was all smiling & smecking (or laughing).

"Let's get things nice & sparkling clear. This sarcasm, if I may call it such, does not become you, O my brothers. As your droog & leader, I am entitled to know what goes on, eh? Now then, Dim, what does that great big horsy gape of a grin portend?" I asked with a growl in my goloss, grabbing Dim's puffy face.

"All right, no more picking on Dim, brother," Georgie said, pulling that gloopy bastard away. "That's part of the New Way."

"New Way?" I shouted angrily. "What's this about a New Way? There's been some very large talk behind my back, & no error. Let me hear more..." I added, getting close into Georgie's face. I could see the sweat pouring down his litso as he said, "Well, if you must have it, have it then. We go round, shop-crasting & the like, coming out with a pitiful pawful of money each."

"Pitiful pawful..." Dim echoed sadly, shaking his head.

"And there's Will The English in the Muscleman coffee mesto saying he can fence anything that any malchick tries to crast," Georgie said. "The shiny stuff. The ice. The big, big, big money is available's what Will The English says."

"Big, big money!" Dim cooed eagerly, clapping his little paws together.

"And what will you do with the big, big money? Have you not got everything you need? If you need a motor-car, you pluck it from the trees. If you need pretty polly, you take it!" I snarled.

"Brother, you think & talk sometimes like a little child," Georgie said, shaking his head as he smiled & placed a paw on my pletcho. "Tonight we pull a mouse-size crast."

"Good," I said, trying to smile. "Real horrorshow. Initiative comes to them as waits. I've taught you much, my little droogies. Now tell me what you have in mind, Georgie boy."

"Oh, the old milkplus first, would you not say, Alex?" Georgie replied, winking. "Something to sharpen us up, you especially. We have the start!"


End file.
